


Quicken

by reillyblack



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Derek Hale, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Excessive Cursing, Fuck Or Die, Idiots in Love, M/M, Oblivious Stiles, Pining Derek, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf) Knows, Sort Of, Succubus, but that's not the impetus for the sex, my bbs are always bi in my mind, my second fav magical creature, unicorn hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28928853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reillyblack/pseuds/reillyblack
Summary: Derek had not been aware that Stiles was a virgin. Derek tried, often, not to think about Stiles and sex. He didn't succeed, but he did try. And Stiles has to know that, has to be doing this to him on purpose. No one is this thick.For example, Scott knows exactly what Stiles is doing to him.Scott.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 24
Kudos: 415
Collections: Sterek Goodness





	Quicken

**Author's Note:**

> Orla Gartland's "I Go Crazy" is my inspo this time

"Can we _please_ talk about your muscles sometime?" Stiles asks, his voice a giddy squeak that sometimes emerges in life-threatening situations.

Derek is holding a fucking wall up, and Stiles chooses _this_ moment.

"Little busy now," Derek manages, straining under the weight of what sounds like a million hooves ramming against the wall behind him.

"They're insane. You work out all the time -- for a werewolf -- and your enormous muscles are literally saving our life right now. I just think we need to verbally acknowledge and appreciate them more often. I don't want you to start slacking on your training because we don't loudly, fervently appreciate them."

"Scott." Derek looks at Scott pleadingly. Scott, similarly struggling under the weight of the brick wall, looks suspiciously like he's hiding a smile under his strained grimace.

"I don't get credit, Stiles?"

"That fuckin' unicorn stampede's after my virgin ass, so yeah, Scott, we can totally praise your inhuman strength anytime you want. You both totally rock right now."

"Any ideas about escaping?" Derek groans out, another shockwave vibrating through the unstable wall. He's pretty sure he's seconds away from a hoof punching right through the plaster and into his kidney.

"Oh, yeah. That window up there?" Stiles points up at what must be a window, though Derek can't see it from his crouched position. A towering bookshelf with a heap of books piled on top is obscuring the supposed window, but Stiles must have a better vantage point. "It's propped open. I think we're all skinny enough to slide through. Though, again, those muscles. May not make it, Hale." 

"Stiles." It's like another gut punch, and Derek _cannot_ right now. "How about climbing up there. Now."

"Totally. Right. Yes." Stiles stumbles over seemingly nothing as he scrambles to climb up the bookshelf. Derek's heart jumps into his throat when the bookcase tilts a little as Stiles gets to the top. A second later, though, Stiles is wiggling through the hidden window, knocking over the pile of books with his feet as he gets through. With the books gone Derek can see their escape route clearly, and he and Scott have a silent moment of agreement before they let go of the wall and dash out from under the swiftly crumbling rubble.

A unicorn takes a chunk out of his right foot, but it'll heal. And they get Stiles to the safety of his jeep, which seems to be able to outrun the magical hoard.

"Hey, do I need to get laid or what?" Stiles laughs breathlessly as he drives, his foot a heavy weight against the pedal. "Freakin' virgin magnets. How come you never mentioned that werewolves and unicorns are sworn enemies, Derek?"

Derek grunts in answer. Scott is looking at Derek too intently, and Derek knows it has nothing to do with his unicorn fact-withholding.

"Virgin + werewolf pack apparently enrages them. Feels like we should have discussed this. Like, a lot."

"I can't predict the monster-of-the-week future of this batshit town, Stiles," Derek reminds him. If Stiles says one more time that he needs to get laid Derek is going to lose it. And he's pretty sure Scott will too. The guy looks like he's about to hurt something trying to keep his face straight.

Derek had not been aware that Stiles was a virgin. Derek tried, often, not to think about Stiles and sex. He didn't succeed, but he did try. And Stiles has to know that, has to be doing this to him on purpose. No one is this thick.

For example, Scott knows exactly what Stiles is doing to him.

_Scott._

"A whole herd of unicorns. I am going to call every stuffed animal company and tell them to get their facts straight. Not cute. Not cuddly. Definitely not rainbow. How about: beetle eyes filled with rage and horns like swords that can and will slice you from navel to ear? Much more realistic. We must not teach the children lies. Give them accurate nightmares right from the get-go."

"Stiles." Derek sighs. "Focus on driving, please. They're still after us. Gas?"

"Gas is... good. Gas is mostly full. So we agree that I shouldn't stop driving for a while?" 

"Let's get at least fifty miles between us and them and then we can talk about... whatever."

"You really don't know me if you think I can drive fifty miles without talking about 'whatever'. Like your muscles. Dude, the definition. Are you bulking up right now? Because that was sick."

"Stiles." Derek is in pain, physical pain. And not just the agony of his right pinkie toe regrowing. "Scott?"

"What about my muscles, Stiles?" Scott calls, grinning from ear to ear. Derek wants to punch him. He really does.

* * *

Derek sees red, and it's not just his raging jealousy.

The succubus is all over Stiles. She's gorgeous, and exactly Stiles's type -- Derek can tell from Stiles's flushed cheeks and stuttering rambling. She's a buxom redhead (of course), pretty green eyes and cherry lips. She's wearing a silky crimson outfit that Derek could have sworn he'd seen on Lydia (of course). Stiles doesn't have to pretend that she's got her hooks in him, because _she's got her hooks in him_.

The jealousy heats his brain to a boiling point and Derek is moving before he even thinks about it.

Until he runs into an arm -- an arm belonging to Scott. He hates Scott.

Scott shakes his head, just a little, not enough to draw the succubus's attention to them. Derek miraculously hasn't alerted her to their presence with his sudden movement. Scott's eyes are full of pity, and Derek definitely hates Scott.

He bears his teeth at Scott, the message clearly _you suggested that Stiles be succubus bait, you puppy-faced Boy Scout._

Sure, Stiles isn't in danger of anything other than coming in his pants. But this is torture for Derek, and Scott clearly knows that. Knew that. 

Derek stays put, but their plan is fucked even without his intervention. Stiles is in her thrall and there's no way he's going to properly lure the succubus into their trap. There's no way he hasn't lost his goddamn mind over that dress and that red hair. Those breasts.

Maybe Derek is actually the one losing his goddamn mind.

"So, my dad's a cop, and I have some handcuffs in my car. You interested? I mean, you can use them on me, obviously," Derek hears Stiles telling the woman. Alright, so he underestimated him. She smiles. She's a predator in silk and Derek has a front-row seat to this femme fatale deciding to devour Stiles for dinner. 

Scott's hand is still on his arm -- Derek hadn't realized -- and it tightens in warning.

Derek growls, low and quiet, but it's useless because Stiles is already leading the woman into their pack ambush out the back of the crowded bar.

When the back door closes behind them, Derek hears their trap fall on the succubus. He just barely perceives her groan of rage beneath the thump of the bar music and the muffling effect of the heavy metal door separating them. It's a satisfying sound.

After a few tense moments where Scott and Derek just listen to the sounds of the pack subduing their victim, Stiles slips back through the door and makes his way over to the bar. He sidles up next to them, and Derek is hit with the full-on force of aroused Stiles, giddy with excitement. His pupils are dilated, his cheeks flushed, his lips somehow even wetter than usual.

"Got her. Isaac had her in a headlock on the ground, Kira tied the rope around her wrists. She's not stronger than a single werewolf, let alone a whole pack."

"Cool. We just need a lite saliva for the virgin de-magnetizing spell, as Stiles calls it."

"Can't I just -- I mean, the problem's that I'm a virgin, right? A twenty-year-old virgin." Stiles is bouncing on the balls of his feet, licking his bottom lip incessantly, and Derek can't stop staring. "I mean, why don't I just... not be a virgin anymore? That would do it, right?" Derek swallows hard. Scott glances at him. 

"You're not suggesting --"

"She's a succubus, Scott. It's not like it's some big thing to just... let her bone me!"

"Oh, god," Derek moans faintly, wishing he could be anywhere but here. Stiles looks at him for a microsecond, his pupils like huge, fathomless pools of dark energy that Derek just wants to fall into. He might be falling, actually. The super-charged heat surrounding Stiles's delicious body draws him in.

"This is the succubus mojo we talked about, Stiles. You're going to feel better in five minutes. Cool off and stay here with Derek while I make sure they've got that... woman secured out there."

"I bet I could have nicely asked her to spit in a cup for me instead of siccing the entire pack on her," Stiles grumbles as he swings himself up on the stool next to Derek, leaning back on the bar. "Seems like major overkill to me." Then, after a pause, "You'd bone her, I'm sure. Demons are totally your type."

"Pot. Kettle." Derek points at Stiles, then at himself. And, because he can't help himself, he says, "Will you just drink some ice water or something?"

Stiles clears his throat, looks away from him. He looks embarrassed. Derek hates himself instead of just the situation. 

"Yeah, sure." Stiles turns on the stool to wave down the bartender. "You know, if I looked like you, I'd have no trouble getting rid of this whole virginity problem."

"It's not a problem," Derek says fiercely. He surprises both of them with the intensity of his words, leaning over the bar and slamming his hand down on the table. "You're fine. It's the damn unicorns. Unicorns are vicious, overgrown poodles that uphold the patriarchy and should be lit on fire."

Stiles looks stunned, his mouth hanging open even as the bartender comes to stand next to them. Stiles orders an ice water after a moment of gaping at Derek. The bartender gets it for him quickly. The beads of water on the edge of the glass wet Stiles's fingertips. They glisten in the low lighting, and Derek wants to lick each drop of moisture.

"Looks like that little 'sworn-enemies' thing goes both ways."

"Werewolves get all this shit press, whereas unicorns have become synonymous with beneficence while spearing virgins and sacrificing their entrails to the dark undergods of the forest."

"'Kay. We're going to put a pin in _that_ and definitely talk more about these 'dark undergods' of the forest who also, apparently, enjoy my entrails." Stiles is smiling now. "You should call the stuffed animal companies with me and give them that little speech."

"And you should have sex when you want to, not because you're trying to avoid a ritual sacrifice. And not because some _thing_ magically drugged you." Derek clears his throat, leans on the bar so he can avoid Stiles's overlarge eyes. "We'll get that damn succubus's spit and we'll have all the ingredients we need for the spell."

Stiles is silent for long enough that Derek glances over at him. His pupils are still huge, his cheeks still flushed. He sips delicately from the glass of water, his long fingers catching Derek's hungry attention yet again. Stiles is studying him, his lips curving up in half a smile. Derek thinks maybe -- just maybe -- he knows. Maybe he is just playing with him. Maybe that steady gaze means, _yeah, when I want to... like right now?_

Derek can smell the succubus's effect on him, even in this crowded, stinking bar. Jealousy lives in him now, and it's shaped like the redhead that that succubus literally pulled from Stiles's deepest desires and wore as a skin for him.

Not some dark-haired man with a nameless eye color -- a Jessica Rabbit with huge, soft breasts. Figures.

"I want to see you do it," Stiles says softly.

"Do what?" Derek asks, mesmerized.

"We're in a bar. I know you pick people up. If you show me, maybe I can do it too."

Derek lets a breath loose. The last thing, absolute last, that he wants to do right now is pick someone up. Nope.

"You are a menace."

"Come on. Are you saying you don't even have to try? Is it the grimace? The Superman eyebrows? The jawline, gotta be the jawline."

"Stop," Derek grunts, and he can feel his stomach grow warm with more than jealousy now.

"Naw, it's the muscles, right? You wear that leather jacket, but then you take it off. And you've got one of those too-tight t-shirts on inside. The broad chest, the way that fabric stretches on you. And the musk."

"Stiles." Derek is watching Stiles's hands again. "Stiles."

"Should I lean in like this?" Stiles leans a little closer so there's only a few inches between them. "That's how you envelop them in that intoxicating scent, isn't it? What is that? What are you wearing?"

Derek swallows. Stiles's pupils are still blown with succubus magic, and Derek can see himself reflected in those dark pools.

"Nothing," Derek answers hoarsely.

Scott is standing just a few feet from them. Derek didn't even register him approaching. Derek breaks the spell and looks over, sees Scott's slightly shocked expression smooth quickly into something more neutral.

"Got her wrangled. Bottled up some saliva. She didn't want to be cooperative, and I doubt she would have let us use her bodily fluids in a spell if we hadn't wrapped her up first. By the way, Kira's attracted to giant Swedish guys, I've learned. That shape-shifting thing is wild and not at all like what we werewolves do."

Scott prods the glass of water in Stiles's hand, as if to insist he drink up. Stiles obliges, no longer meeting Derek's eyes.

* * *

"This is a joke, right?" Derek mutters to Scott. They're hand-picked bodyguards for Stiles while he performs his "private ritual". 

"I don't have any control over the contents of the spell, Derek. Come on," Scott mutters back. 

"He _has_ to be _naked_ in the woods?" Derek grits his teeth. "It's somebody's joke, somewhere. Some cosmic entity must be doing this to me intentionally." 

"I don't get why you don't just... say something, dude." 

"Well, that's a dumb idea," Derek mumbles.

"No, it's --" 

"Can you two hurry up? I feel extremely exposed up here, and I don't want to slow down. We need to get this done fast. Derek's whole 'dark undergods of the forest' speech is really getting to me. I need to take this target off my back pronto." 

"The fairy ring is just up ahead," Derek calls to him, jogging to stand directly next to the object of his affection. Stiles is wearing a ceremonial robe, holding a ceremonial dagger, and swinging a vial of succubus spit mixed with druid blood (courtesy of Deaton) like it's a child's toy. Derek snatches the vial from Stiles reproachfully, thinking of how frequently Stiles trips over his own feet. He does not want to have to relive the succubus experience to replenish the raw materials for the spell. 

"You don't need to worry about the forest gods. They don't do anything for themselves; they enlist their worshippers to do their bidding." 

"Exactly. Who's to say our unicorn herd is their only group of minions? I'm too young to die of an unpopped cherry, Derek. This is not how I go out." 

He has a point. Derek doesn't further inflame Stiles's fearful imagination by trying to argue with him. 

The fairy ring is a small thing, just a circle of mushrooms growing amongst some moss in the shadow of the trees. Derek is naturally wary of them as a werewolf, so he knows where they grow in the preserve in order to avoid them. They always grow in places of supernatural hot-spots -- magic wells -- and Derek knows enough about magic to avoid unconstrained pots of it whenever possible. 

Stiles starts to strip down as soon as they get there, removing his pants under his robe. Derek doesn't totally blame him for his haste. The woods are dark, misty, and eerily quiet. The fairy ring gives off a presence that warns werewolves off, and humans certainly aren't immune to its effects if Stiles's goose bumps are anything to go by. Stiles is still wearing his ceremonial robe over his partial nudity, thank god, but Derek turns away just in case. 

"Uh-uh. No way. You two are just going to have to deal with my nude ass. The second you look away is when I get sucked into a fairy portal, or, or, some unicorn jumps out of a bush and impales me. These are horror movie basics, and naked in the dark woods definitely dictates horror-movie level caution. If viewers watching from home would be cursing our stupidity, we are not going to do it." 

"Alright." Scott shrugs, nonchalant. 

"Humans are fragile creatures that break easily," Derek reminds himself in a low whisper. Stiles catches it and looks offended.

Scott, at least, knows what Stiles is doing to him. It's Scott's fault that Derek's torture continues. Scott could have given Stiles a talking-to before this moment descended upon them. Derek throws him a dirty look, but he isn't paying attention to him. 

Stiles finishes stripping down to just his ceremonial robes and pulls a spell book from his backpack before he sits in the middle of the fairy ring. He shivers in the misty, damp cold of the forest. Derek watches Stiles's surroundings intently, as Stiles has requested, but all he can think about is why Stiles is shivering -- naked under that stupid robe. The cosmos are truly setting up Derek's unrequited crush as a punchline in every possible situation.

Stiles starts to read a chant from his spell book, and the medieval Serbian sounds almost comical when pronounced phonetically and with a clear American accent. Derek tunes it out, his focus on the eerily quiet woods. Derek isn't as worried about unicorns as Stiles seems to be since they're obnoxiously loud and Derek would hear them coming from miles off. But that doesn't mean there aren't other more stealthy creatures that could be drawn to the power of the spell, or the fairy ring, or both. 

Stiles comes to the end of his chanting and efficiently strips off the rest of his robe. 

_Oh, jesus,_ Derek thinks to himself. 

Stiles dips the ceremonial dagger's tip in the vial of bodily fluids before anointing his forehead, neck, shoulders, chest, penis, knees, and toes. Derek literally can't look away from Stiles's beautiful body, and he sure as hell hopes that Scott has eyes on Stiles's surroundings. This would be the moment in a horror movie that something bad would happen. Because of course Stiles is right -- he's right an annoying amount of the time, with his genius-level IQ and his quick wit and his fast mouth -- his wonderful, delicious-looking mouth, _god_ \-- 

Stiles is glowing where the dagger touched him. 

"Um. This is not supposed to happen." Stiles stares down at his glowing parts. "This is definitely not supposed to happen. Shit. _Shit_." 

"Shit!" Scott backs him up. But he's not looking at Stiles. "Derek! Your eyes!" 

The woods are getting brighter. Derek can feel his eyes glowing, not with beta blue but with actual, goddamn white light. 

"Why?" Derek asks the universe. _"Why?"_

A searing migraine hits him as he goes blind with the intensity of the light, left with just his hearing to gauge the chaos around him. Stiles and Scott both shout things at the same time. 

Then, while he's plummeting into a state of utter despair and confusion, the pain knocks him unconscious.

* * *

He wakes up at Stiles's house. He's in Stiles's bedroom, lying in his bed. He smells both Scott and Stiles in the room before he tries to open his eyes. Stiles looks fine, no longer glowing, which _thank fuck_. But still...

"Are you okay?" Derek groans. His eyes hurt like hell and he has to close them again against the light in the room, which is at least external now instead of internal. "Did it not work?" 

"Am _I_ okay, he asks," Stiles repeats to Scott. Derek can hear the biting frustration in his tone. "After his head nearly supernova'd and he scared us half to death." 

"I don't think medieval Serbian makes sense with your American accent," Derek guesses. Stiles had sounded absolutely ridiculous. Clearly the magic was offended by his West Coast pronunciation. 

"Nope, that wasn't the problem, Mister Impure Thoughts," Scott retorts immediately. "Stiles, seriously. This was your fault. You should have told us about the stipulations of the spell." 

"Yeah, so the observers of the spell kind of have to be..." 

"Not lusting after the object of the spell." 

Derek _hates_ Scott. 

"Stiles should have told us," Scott re-affirms. Derek is just going to keep his eyes closed under the pretense of his continuing headache and intense light sensitivity. 

"I didn't think it was possible! Truly! You're my best bro, and Derek... I thought it was all in my head." 

"Well, wake up, idiot. It's possible. It's been possible. And you need to fill us in about these things. That's your responsibility if you're the one doing the research for the spell."

It's quiet in the room. Derek refuses to open his eyes and face the humiliating situation. 

"Did it... at least... work? Are you protected from the unicorns?" 

"Um." 

"Oh, what the _fuck_." Derek buries his face in his hands. "Are you actually telling me that we have to do that over?" 

It's quiet again. 

"Well, I'm gonna go," Scott says after an awkwardly long time.

"You can't go, we need to plan. We don't have time for this with that unicorn herd following Stiles around." Derek tries to open his eyes just so he can glare at Scott. He ends up squinting nonthreateningly, his head throbbing with even that small amount of light. "Clearly I can't be present for the ceremony this time, but as long as the vial didn't get destroyed--" 

"Oh, _fuck_ the ritual, Derek," Stiles bursts out. He's sitting next to the bed in his desk chair, his knee jiggling with excess energy. "Seriously. You could have just... we could have just... why didn't you just say something?" 

"What are you even talking about -- how did you not know? That whole thing with the succubus -- and, and talking about my _musk_ \--" Derek wants to shake Stiles he's so frustrated. "You've been torturing me!"

"I thought you just got second-hand high off the succubus effects. Scott told me I was, like, leaking her energy all over the place after I talked to her." Stiles sounds as nervous as Derek feels. "I really thought you didn't... that you couldn't." 

"Couldn't," Derek repeats flatly. "And what about you and your redhead perfect type, huh?"

"Here, aspirin." Derek feels a cool glass of water pressed to his lips. And fingertips, holding a pill. Stiles's fingertips, fuck. 

"Doesn't work on werewolves." 

"Oh." Stiles takes his hands away. Derek should have just swallowed it and shut up. "That makes sense. And by the way, if you think I have just one type then you haven't been paying attention." 

Derek wishes his head wasn't about to split open. He wishes he could look Stiles in the eye and understand exactly what is going on here. He wishes the universe was done humiliating him, dangling what he can't have in front of his face. 

"So, I know you feel like hell right now. It's... we can wait." 

"Wait for what?" Derek asks blankly. 

"I guess I'm making assumptions. But I figure, if you find me... you know... attractive, then you won't mind." 

"Won't mind what?" 

"Sex." Stiles breathes out harshly. "With me. Duh, dude. For fuck's sake, it's the least I can do after nearly.... _exploding_ your head." 

Derek's jaw goes slack. Then he feels sick to his stomach, and it has nothing to do with the aftereffects of some spell. He wishes he could just run from the room, but he knows if he moves he very well might throw up. 

"How can you even... I'm not going to be like that damn succubus. I'm not going to let these bastards force you into losing your virginity when you don't want to." 

"Force me? If _you_ were the one doing that ritual and I was watching you, then I would literally be dead right now. Not just knocked out for a few hours, I would be dead-dead. That's how fiercely I want you." Stiles sounds annoyed, but also strangely breathless.

Derek can't compute what he's saying. 

"But... I don't understand. This whole time I haven't been subtle." 

"I haven't been subtle, either! I've been trying to drop the most obvious hints I could think of. Do all your friends rave about your muscles as much as I do? That's the only logical reason I can think of to understand how you could be so dense." 

"Scott." Derek still hardly believes it, but he starts to smile. "This is Scott's fault. He knew." 

"He said he wanted us to figure it out on our own." Stiles laughs. "He's a big traitor, is what he is." 

The bed dips, and then all five feet and ten inches of Stiles's glorious body is spreading out next to Derek, spooning up against him. Derek holds his breath, waiting to wake up from the spell that he's clearly trapped in. But Stiles is so solid and hot next to him, his breaths so even, that after a few moments Derek is forced to let himself accept that this could... possibly... potentially... be real.


End file.
